Tikki and the Elf´s Ring

In Denmark, we have a dog breed that in English speaking countries you know as a "dachshund," but in Danish, it's called a "gravhund." Translated literally, "dig-dog" – well, that's not quite correct because the prefix "grav" refers to a fox or badger's burrow, which the breed was developed to fit perfectly into in order to chase the animal out. However, there's now a widespread misconception that it’s because they love to dig.

I was out on my evening walk in the dark around 11:30 PM with my dog. She’s no "gravhund", but when she energetically began to dig in the grass along the gravel path we were walking on, I couldn’t help but say,

"So, have you become a real "gravhund" now?"

She continued her furious digging, and soon her head was completely buried in the dirt, which sprayed in all directions with each swipe of her paws in the rain-soaked ground. She was completely focused. She even bit at the grass to get better access to the edge. Something had really caught her attention. After all, dog noses are far more sensitive to smells than ours.

I read somewhere that when a dog spends five minutes digging with all its senses on high alert, it’s the equivalent of most of a workday for us humans.Not a bad activity right before we head inside to bed, ensuring that she’ll fall right into a deep, sweet sleep for many hours. Win-win for me, since I have the day off tomorrow and would love to sleep in a bit longer than usual.

"Can’t you find that mouse soon?"

I asked after standing there with my headlamp fixed on her for almost ten minutes. My cigarette had long since burned out, so it must have been over seven minutes.

The local deer had also begun to emerge from their hiding places and looked curiously at the new streetlight that had apparently been installed here, their eyes glowing blue in the night.

My dog heard them, glanced briefly at them, and then continued digging.

Suddenly, I saw her pull her head up from the hole. She looked rather funny, with a ring of dirt around her snout.

"You look messy with that dirt around your nose, you!" I said. "Why don’t we just go home and find a can of food in the kitchen cupboard, instead of you trying to find that mouse?"

She struggled with something, trying to swipe something off her nose with her paw. Hmm, I thought, moist dirt sticking to her whiskers must be irritating.

"Can you tell me what you’re trying to do, my girl?" I asked aloud, my breath visible in the cool air.

"For one thing, I can’t tell you because I can’t talk," she replied.

"For another, I don’t know what’s stuck on my nose, but it’s making it nearly impossible to open my mouth."

Now, I don’t know how you feel about hearing voices, but I usually don’t hear such voices, even if it’s a full moon and bats are flying overhead.

My dog had just spoken! I had heard it, loud and clear. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up like a dog raising its hackles.

"Tikki, you... uh... you can talk," I stammered.

"Apparently," she said. "Now, help me with this annoying thing around my snout."

I tried to feel around her nose. It had to be some sort of metal, but it was both hard and soft at the same time, so every time I tried to pull at it, it slipped through my fingers like water. I simply couldn’t loosen it.

We stood on the gravel road, with the churchyard on the other side. I began to think the gravestones were moving, and the trees seemed to twist more than usual.

"Why are you disturbing my home?" a sharp female voice suddenly echoed from the hole Tikki had dug.

"Well, I just wanted to find out where that lovely scent was coming from," Tikki said. "I didn’t mean to disturb anyone, and I’m a good girl, I don’t bite!"

She was quite eloquent, I thought, for someone who had only been able to talk for two minutes. This had to be witchcraft and sorcery.

"In my world, we don’t destroy anything, and we only show ourselves in foggy weather, so humans don’t see us. But you don’t see us anyway, because you don’t believe in us," said the creature, now emerging from the hole.

It had to be an elf. It could only be an elf, I thought.

"The snare around your dog’s snout is an ancient magic ring that allows animals and humans to talk to and understand each other one evening a year. It attaches itself when a suitable creature is nearby. It doesn’t latch onto just anyone, only intelligent and peaceful beings. But it had gone missing, and I’ve been searching for it for months. You see, without the ring, we elves can’t sing winter into being with all the forest’s creatures on this special night."

My dog, intelligent and peaceful? Yes, definitely.

"When will it come off again, and how?" asked the ever-practical Tikki. "After all, it’s my snout that it’s squeezing!"

"Don’t worry," said the elf, whose gender I couldn’t tell, but that didn’t seem to matter. It was a kind being, and such details didn’t seem important. "The ring will release ten minutes after midnight, once we’ve sung winter in."

"We’re in a bit of a hurry, though, because the ring bearer needs to be in the middle of the forest over there behind the hill in three minutes. Otherwise, we won’t make it, and great sorrow will spread because winter won’t be sung in."

"I’m fast on my feet," said Tikki, "I can handle that easily. But whether my slightly older, lovable human can keep up, I’m not sure. I’ll do my best to drag him along."

So that’s what she thought of me – an older but lovable gentleman. You learn something new every day!

"Now, watch it, Tikki. I’m the one who opens the dog food, after all," I said.

"Ha ha ha," Tikki laughed. "Come on, Human, we’ve got a mission."

We sprinted after the elf into the forest. Tikki had never wanted to go into the woods after dark before, so I was curious to see how it would go.

Tikki followed the elf, showing no signs of fear.

We ended up in a clearing, where deer, foxes, badgers, and smaller animals like mice, stoats, hedgehogs, and squirrels stood together in a circle. Above us, all the birds we knew from our walks throughout the year sat in the trees. Everyone was represented here.

"We have gathered here tonight to remember all our brothers and sisters who did not survive the year’s dangers. We are here to sing winter in. Thanks to Tikki, who proved to be such an excellent "gravhund", (the deer snickered, knowing full well she was a large and agile German shepherd), "the ring was found in time. We can now sing and consecrate the new year, praying for good fortune and growth so that we may survive and thrive."

The animals began humming and singing in a language incomprehensible to my ears. Tikki sang along, which surprised me, as I had never heard her howl like a wolf before, but that’s exactly how it sounded.

After a while, the music stopped. It was like a musical version of the Northern Lights briefly flickering between the trees.

The ring fell off Tikki’s nose and disappeared into the grass as if stolen by a shadow.

There was a flurry of soft footsteps as the deer and other creatures hurried away.

Silence.

Tikki stood with ears pricked, listening for any remaining sounds.

Only the light from my headlamp remained.

"Come on, let’s head home to the warmth," I said, still a bit shaken by what we had just experienced.

"Woof," said Tikki.

I’m sure she understands everything I say, and now I understand a little more of what she says daily.

"Thank you, my girl, you really were a great digger."

On the way home, I asked her if anyone would ever believe this story, especially since it was All Hallows’ Eve.

"Snffshhh," she replied.